


Surf and Wank

by abigail89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Crack, Fluff, Masturbation, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-26
Updated: 2007-11-26
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10788033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: Sand.  Heat. Men on holiday.  You do the math.





	Surf and Wank

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

The story is set late August when everyone goes back to school. Written for the August Wankathon at [](http://abigail89.insanejournal.com/2326.html#cutid1)[**wankingnotwank**](http://www.insanejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=wankingnotwank) on LJ yesterday. Many thanks to the fabulous [](http://abigail89.insanejournal.com/2326.html#cutid1)[**aome**](http://www.insanejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=aome) for the speedy and extremely helpful beta.

 

 

* * *

*~*

The night air was stifling, nearly unbearable. Even though the sun had set, Ron would’ve bet his broomstick that the temperature had risen by a full ten degrees, by local measurements. The humidity was so thick it was almost like breathing water.

Ron was beginning to question Harry’s sanity for suggesting they vacation in Florida in August. Never had he been more uncomfortable in his life.

However, the cottage was quaint and secluded, and the beach was, for the most part, deserted. The local restaurants were quiet, thus making service efficient, and the food fresh. The bars, also suffering from end-of-season doldrums, closed early, forcing Harry and Ron to head back to their lodgings, where they could either read or have sex since the cottage helpfully had no telly. And since neither brought any books, they had to make do with shagging, drinking American beer bought from the all-night petrol station on the highway, shag some more, and then drop into uneasy sleep. Ron’s crazy, sweat-fueled dreams of pink snakes and flying trains and Seamus Finnigan dancing the can-can in a frilly blue dress forced him from a fitful sleep and drove him to drink heavily, even though it was before dawn.

All in all, Ron considered, it hadn’t been a bad vacation. Just _hot and sticky_.

The oppressive weather had its upside, however. Because of the heat and the humidity and the isolation, Harry – slightly prudish and generally self-conscious about his body Harry Potter – had taken to wearing as little clothing as possible. He even made a trip to a large store specializing in cheap clothing and plastic crap to purchase loose-fitting singlets that someone called ‘wife-beaters’ and flip-flops and shorts that exposed quite a generous expanse of Harry’s nicely muscled thighs. And he wore them without underpants so he could run into the ocean at will to cool off during the day. It nearly drove Ron mad because just _knowing_ Harry’s cock was bobbing freely about under the loose shorts, freely accessible, was good for a hard-on.

So far, though, Ron had not been able to convince him to just _lose_ the clothes and run into the water with him. Because he, Ron, thought the salt water felt absolutely brilliant with nothing on.

The first time he’d taken off his clothes and dived into the frothy waves, Harry had stopped at the edge of the surf, his jaw slack. Ron had looked back at him and waved, trying to get him to follow. Instead he’d timidly walked into the water and said, “What if someone sees?”

“C’mon, Harry. There’s not another soul around.”

Harry had looked uncertain, but ended up taking his shirt off. Ron managed to entice him out into the water further until it covered their waists, and only then would he take off his shorts.

Ron wasted no time whatsoever in taking their cocks in hand and bringing them both off breathily and hastily. Harry had grinned his ‘fuck that was brilliant’ smile, but had pulled the infernal shorts on right afterward.

Ron had taken to walking around the beach in the nude, trying to convince Harry that there was nothing wrong with it. Harry still wasn’t buying it and flatly refused even after Ron offered to cast an aversion spell. “It isn’t that,” Harry insisted.

“Well, then, what?”

“I dunno. I just—“

Ron had looked at him incredulously. “What? Like I haven’t seen you naked? Like I haven’t seen you with your legs spread so wide for me, begging to be fucked to within an inch of your life? Seen your skinny white arse wiggling in my face –“

“All right! I know. It doesn’t make sense, but I just…I haven’t…you know, walked around outside naked. Ever.”

“Well, maybe it’s time you did.”

Harry had grinned then. “Maybe so.” And then he went inside the cottage, to Ron’s utter disappointment.

*~*

They enjoyed a meal of Gulf shrimp and scallops that were broiled to perfection. The wine had been cold and sweet. Their waitress, a young woman with a Southern accent so thick you could cut it with a knife, convinced them to try the Key Lime pie, which melted in their mouths in a tartly sweet paradox that had Ron swooning. The corner store had one more six-pack of the local brew they’d enjoyed so much. As soon as they returned home, they opened bottles and sat in the beach chairs, drinking and watching the incoming surf, enjoying the final night of their Florida adventure.

“It’s been good,” Ron said. He unbuttoned the loose cotton shirt and fanned himself.

“You’ve complained about the heat all week,” Harry pointed out.

“So have you.”

He hummed. “Still…this wasn’t so bad.”

“Nope. No one hassled us.”

“No one recognized you.”

“No one tried to proposition you.”

Ron laughed. “That you know of.”

Harry looked at him. “Who?”

“The waitress tonight.”

“Really?”

“Ran into me coming back from the loo.”

Harry looked out at the surf. “That little minx.”

Ron laughed. “Should’ve seen the look on her face when I told her I was taken.”

“By me?”

“By you.”

Harry jostled the bottle from side to side, then drank the rest of the beer down in one gulp. He stood and walked towards the ocean.

In the golden light and cloudless sky, Harry was a vision, his black hair in stark contrast. Ron was just admiring how nice he looked when Harry raised his arms above his head, pulling the wife-beater with them.

True, he was still skinny, but his body has reached an agreeable equilibrium of slender and a bit of muscle and a light sheen of chest hair. Ron was enjoying bonus view, when Harry slipped the shorts down his legs, and then kicked them aside.

If Harry had a nice chest, then his arse was something approaching magnificent: arse cheeks that were high and rounded and tight, dimpled on each side that hollowed even more when he walked. Ron had never considered himself an arse-man, but Harry had definitely changed all that for him. Ron could watch Harry’s arse for an eternity. Besides fucking it.

Then Ron came back to reality: Harry was naked. On the beach. In Florida. After resisting him for a week, Harry had finally--what? Given in? —and was parading around on the beach without any clothes on.

Just as he was about to leave his chair, Harry held out his hand, stopping him. And with Ron settling back, Harry turned and faced him.

“This is what you want to see?” he asked softly. He palmed his growing erection.

Ron nodded mutely.

“Do you like seeing me like this?” He ran his hand along the now-stiff shaft.

Ron swallowed, and nodded again. His cock strained against his own shorts.

Harry established a rhythm—up and down, round the purpling head and down again—as he threw back his head. The other hand traced trailed up the line of fine black hair, past his flat belly to his chest. Slender finger tweaked his left nipple, the one Ron knew was especially sensitive and guaranteed to drive Harry wild with passion.

Ron shifted, sliding his shorts down slowly so that he wouldn’t break the magical sight before him, and then took his own aching cock to hand.

Harry walked slowly toward him, still tugging and pulling. “Is this what you’ve wanted?” he asked, eyes glazed.

Ron nodded again, his hand working rapidly.

“This is for you.”

He backed away again, allowing Ron to see all of him better. He fixed his gaze on Ron, squeezing his cock hard, his thumb pushing the head viciously. Ron watched, transfixed, as Harry’s mouth fell open, eyes wide behind the glasses. Sweat gathered on his brow; one thin line streamed down the valley of his chest. His hand became a near blur as it worked his cock. Ron matched the pace.

Then, Harry gasped and his body convulsed; he closed his eyes as his orgasm began, the thick globs spurting forth onto the sand. Ron climaxed at the third spasm, come pooling over his hand and onto the chair.

Harry dropped to his knees, his body glistening with sweat and come. Ron rose from his chair, and, tripping over his shorts, fell to the sand. “Fuck, man.”

He heard Harry laughing softly, but undeterred, Ron pulled himself up and fell onto Harry, pulling him fully into the sand.

They rolled around, laughing and kissing, hands rubbing the sand into hair and along wet limbs. Harry yelped as Ron accidentally kneed him, bringing them back to themselves.

“Bloody exhibitionist,” Ron muttered.

Harry laughed. “Says you, you who’ve strutted around like a fucking peacock all week.”

“Which you’ve loved.”

“Oh yeah. Watching you. You’re incredible to watch.”

“So are you; wish you’d realize that.”

They lay in the sand for some time, watching the sun sink lower into the sparkling water. Then, the two sandy men rose.

“Oh fucking Merlin,” Harry moaned. “I think I’ve got sand in places sand should never be.”

“Want some help?” Ron offered with a leer, pulling Harry closer. “Race you to the shower.”

Harry grinned.


End file.
